Worth it
by stilljustme
Summary: AU Through the years, the nightmare has been folllowing her, the picture of Francis dying in her arms.


**A/N: Francis' death pretty much left me an emotional wreck. Which is okay to happen with great shows and characters, but not when there's tons of work and studying to do. So… this kind of story is rather new for me, and it is written as a means of somehow getting over… you know what. I hope you enjoy it.**

„Francis!" Mary's cry filled the air and made it hard to breathe, hard to move. Her heart was racing, her body hurting as if set on fire, her feet running faster, faster, and still too slow. "Francis, no!"  
On top of the stairs, she wavered. Left or right? Great god, how could she have forgotten the location of her own room?  
Her shaking legs gave way, unwilling to carry the queen towards what she was not ready to see.  
"Francis!" Mary's voice had died down, choked by the tears she could no longer stifle.  
She wouldn't make it. He was dying, right now, he would leave her, and she wouldn't be able to say goodbye, wouldn't get a last chance to tell him how much she loved him…

"Mary." It was a whisper, so soft it wouldn't stir a feather, and yet she felt it thundering through her body as if she was hit by a rock. "Francis." Her feet followed the faint voice before her mind could determine where it had come from, she was his and he was hers and her entire being was struggling towards him to be whole again, to be safe in his arms.  
To be immortal. She had to believe it, had to believe that Francis could not die as long as she was with him. How could he? Her beautiful, strong, true, compassionate husband, her best friend, the king of France, how could he die?

Yet he would. Mary knew it the moment she entered the chamber, the moment Francis' head turned, tiredly, and his eyes found hers, a smile of relied blooming up on dry, bluish lips.  
"You're here."  
"Of course I am." She sat on the bed beside him, barely noticing the doctors and servants rushing around, then being hushed out of the room. "Where else could I be?" Her fingers reached for him, caressed his hair, his cold forehead, the line of his chin. Beautiful. Hers, every inch, as Francis had promised her in their first night. Hers, for the rest of a life Mary had dreamed to be long, peaceful and happy.  
Fading.

"Don't leave me."  
"Mary…" Francis' eyes darkened with remorse, and Mary cursed herself for begging. She didn't want him to feel more pain – but then again, was she really supposed to pretend she could do this without him? He'd know she was lying. He knew her too well. Through every fight, every foolishness of hers, every betrayal, every pain they had caused each other… Francis had believed in her character, in her strength, in her ability to decide for her own good.  
Mary closed her eyes and her mouth, trying to quench her tears by pure will.  
But the truth was, her will wasn't half as strong as it should be. She had let herself be led by others too often. The truth was, Francis was wrong, and though Mary knew it was her duty to make him right over time, she wasn't sure she could do it.

Francis swallowed slowly, painfully, and reached out for Mary's hands, holding them still against his chest. "I won't."  
She opened her eyes, both longing to see his face and fearing it. Every time she did, it could be the last time. Every moment the light could leave his eyes. She would not survive that moment.  
Francis shook his head. "I promise", his voice sounded stronger now, "no matter how, I will always be with you. I'll look down onto you if I make it to heaven. And if I go to hell for what I've done, I'll look upwards, and make sure you're alright." Tears ran down his face but his smile was so genuine, so hopeful, so much his old self that Mary couldn't help but smile with him.  
"You can't be in hell", she whispered and kissed his hands, "you are the best man I've ever known. You're a better king than any France has ever had." _And hell will be here without you_ , she added only silently, eager to keep his smile alive.  
To keep him alive, for another minute, another hour, another day. There was so much left to do. So much she couldn't do without him…

"Mary…" Slowly, Francis pushed himself upwards, still not letting go of his wife's hands. "Don't let your grief make you forget who you are and what you're able to. You can do anything", he had to pause and catch his breath, and Mary bit her lips to keep from crying, "you are the strongest person I know. You will do what is best for Scotland, and France. And you will be happy again."  
She shook her head. "I can't."  
"You will." He smiled. "You will find joy again, and love. You've got too big a heart not love again, Mary Stuart. And I am thankful for that. I am thankful that your heart was big enough to let me in, even after everything I…"  
"Stop." She leaned forward, framed his pale, thin face with her hands. "Stop that, Francis. We both made mistakes. And we both suffered from them."  
"I can't help but wonder…" Francis closed his eyes again, and this time it wasn't from exhaustion, Mary realized, but from shame, "if you had just left with Condé… before he accepted Elizabeth's offer, before we dueled at the feast… would you be happy now?"

She had asked herself the same question, but just once. The answer was too clear. "No."  
"Please." Francis' grip became stronger. "Don't lie to me, Mary. I need to know…"  
"I don't!" Mary cried. "I wouldn't be happy, I can never be happy without you! Don't you see? I thought I could, I thought I was as strong as you pretend I am, that's why I decided to marry Bash, why I said I'd go to Scotland, with Louis… I tried to get away from you. To push you away on my own accord, because I knew I won't survive if you were taken from me."  
"Then you have to do it again."  
"Do… what?" The sudden firmness of his voice startled her. For a moment, Francis looked strong, hard even – a king claiming his throne, ready to reign and never to yield.  
"You have to push me away again. Leave me. Right now. Leave and don't turn back until you hear that I'm gone." His breaths were ragged but the look in his eyes was still regal as Mary backed away. "Francis, I don't understand."  
"Go now." He clenched his teeth. "For heaven's sake, Mary, just go!"  
"I won't leave you." She shook her head wildly. "I won't."  
"But you have to." He was begging now, begging her to leave just as he had begged her to stay a few months ago. Back then, when she had thought she would never get over the pain of being raped, would never be able to shake the smell and the face of her torturer from her mind. The memory still haunted her, and some nights she would wake up screaming, digging her nails in everything she could reach, blankets, wood, skin. But then Francis was there, holding her.

"Mary!" His fingers moved over her cheek, trembling slightly. "You have to. You have to let me go. Now, before the moment is taken out of our hands."  
"Isn't it already?" The fight against the tears was long lost. Mary kissed her husband's hand, sobbing. "We had so many plans. So many dreams. And now they're all taken away."  
"Not for me." Francis smiled softly, a smile so gentle and honest it belied the pain it must cause him, belied death sitting on his chest, belied the weeks of ache in their marriage.  
"My dream, since you've left us to hide in that convent, was seeing you again, and marrying you. Seeing you crowned beside me, smiling at me. My dream was being happy with you, and I was. I am." His breathing became fast and shallow as he grabbed Mary's hands again. "Are you happy, Mary? In our marriage – forget these past days now, they don't really matter – are you happy?"  
"Of course I am." Mary chuckled incredulously as her tears suddenly stopped, replaced by a smile. "Francis, you have been my dream since I've first seen you. I wanted to be yours from the moment you greeted me, I just…" she shook her head, wondering about the headstrong girl she once had been. Was this girl still inside her?  
"I just thought it had to be harder. We were pledged to be married, not to fall in love. And my…" She stopped as new tears threatened to fall, and willed them back – this time, it worked. Mary smiled at her husband again to take the sting out of the following words: "My mother had advised me not to view you as mine yet, because there were so many things that could happen until we were ready to get married. She said I should rather see you as… my brother than anything else. Of course I hardly understood what she was talking about back then." She blushed and grinned involuntarily, and Francis laughed softly. "Sister?"  
He pulled her down, and Mary rolled over to lie next to him, their faces close together. He seemed even more fragile now, and more beautiful.  
"I don't think I would have liked that", Francis admitted.  
"No… neither would I." She moved closer and he turned his head so their foreheads and noses touched. They were breathing the same air, warmed by the same sun shining down onto them, their hearts beating in unison.  
"We can't be apart." It seemed impossible, still, to imagine a world without him.  
"Mary…" Trembling hands tugged at her face, pulled her even nearer. Mary closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around Francis. "I'm here."  
"Was it… worth it?"

Was it? Were their happy months worth the agonizing moments, days, weeks that felt like years following Francis' reveal? Were the memories they had made worth the searing pain that was yet to come, and then the numbness, for the rest of her life?

Mary swallowed. She knew what she was supposed to say. She just wasn't sure right now if it was the truth. "I love you", she whispered.  
Francis tried to laugh but ended up coughing. "I pray you will say those words again. Even if it means I'll have to fight for you again in heaven." He started to shiver but as Mary wanted to pull back and call for help, he held her tightly. "Forgive me. Everything I've done or… not done… please."  
"I do." She kissed him. "And yes it was worth it, Francis. It was." Only when she felt Francis smile at her cheek Mary realized what he had made her do. He had made her accept that their time was over.  
He had made her say goodbye.

"That's good." His breathing was shallow, but calm now. "Because there's one last dream I have, Mary Stuart. And I need your help."  
"Anything."  
Francis pulled back a bit to look at his wife's eyes, so intensively it was as if he was trying to imprint her face onto his soul, to fill his entire being with her until they would never be torn apart. "I want to die in your arms."  
"Of course."

She had thought she would break apart the moment Francis closed his eyes forever but she didn't, she held him tight as he stopped breathing, his head resting against her chest, her head tilted down to kiss his temple and hide him from the world, from death, from everything that could come between them.  
Nothing could.

"Francis? Mary? Francis!"  
Bash hammered against the door. "Mary!"  
She buried her face in Francis' hair. If Bash didn't come in, she could pretend time had stopped. If he only stayed outside, and nothing else moved, she could convince herself that Francis was just sleeping, that they were alright and happy and safe after all…  
"Wake up, Mary! Wake up!"

She startled with a gasp. Her hands were tangled in heavy sheets, sweat was running down her spine as her eyes searched the darkness for familiar shapes.  
It had been a dream.  
The same dream she'd dreamed for years, and it never ceased to engulf her. It didn't come as often as it had when she'd been younger, when Francis had fallen ill for the first time, but every now and then it would haunt her and make her remember.

"Mary."  
Make her remember how blessed she was that it had only been a dream.

Francis sat down next to her and protectively wrapped his arm around her shoulders. "I've sent for hot wine. It'll help you find sleep again."  
She nodded and rested her head against his shoulder, too busy enjoying the warmth of his body to tell him it wasn't hot wine she needed but only him, forever, only him.  
"I'm sorry I woke you."  
"Never mind." He kissed the top of her head. "As time goes by I find myself needing less sleep. If I only had felt like that when I was younger… then again, it's nice to have the energy now that I can use it for myself. And for you." His wicked grin betrayed the boy he still was inside, and Mary laughed as she pulled him close and onto the bed beside her. Giggling, Francis started to unlace the heavy nightshirt and his touch drove the lingering grief away.  
It had been a dream, a vision. A future that could have been if she had let it happen, but she hadn't.  
After feeling hurt and helpless for so long, after desperately trying to please her mother and her mother-in-law, Mary had finally taken the reins. She had walked into the woods and searched for Délphine, and had forced her to repeat the binding spell she had used for Bash to save Francis. Of course, there had been a sacrifice to be made, and Mary had obeyed the dark gods, had sacrificed without a second of hesitation what had been so important all her life: her reign. She had returned to court not a widow but barren for life, and after ten more years, Charles had been declared heir to the throne of France.

"The same nightmare as always?"  
The worried voice brought Mary back to reality, to the man she'd been married to for the past thirty years. "Yes."  
"Will you ever tell me about it?"  
She framed his face with her hands, marveling at the softness of his skin. "No."  
It was the only secret she kept from him. For Francis, his survival had only been proof that Nostradamus wasn't as inerrant as the women thought, and the seer himself had respected Mary's decision.  
"Why would I? It's gone the moment you hold me in your arms."  
Had she condemned herself that day? Would she burn in hell?

Clearly, Bash had thought it at first. For more than a year, he had been so angry with Mary that he had barely spoken to her. But in the end, Mary knew that Bash loved his brother just as much as she did, and that he would have done the same thing if he'd had the chance.

Francis kissed her again. "Then I'll have to hold you for a little while longer, don't I?"  
Mary frowned. "Except you have something better to do?"  
He shook his head. "Not necessarily _better_ , no. Just…" the wicked smile returned, "something different. Something that involved a little more… movement."

They lay awake as the morning dawned, bright and beautiful. Sleepily, Francis put his arm around his wife. "Have I told you how much I love you this morning?"  
She reached out to caress his hair, more grey than gold now but still soft. "I love you too. I'll love you for the rest of my life… and I'll never let you go again."

It had been worth it.  
They were alright and happy and safe after all.


End file.
